Madeleine Ker - The Sicilian Duke's Demand

‘But how fascinating.’ His fingers were caressing her arm intimately. ‘Any gold coins among them?’ he asked innocently, cocking his head.

She almost choked on her champagne. She pulled her arm away from those caressing fingers. ‘Yes, as a matter of fact. A rather nice gold Poseidon of Syracuse.’

‘Ah, one of my favourite coins,’ he replied, looking smug. ‘One could buy something really special with one of those—in ancient times.’

Isobel felt the colour rise into her pale cheeks. ‘It’s a valuable coin,’ she said tersely.

‘Perhaps you will give me a guided tour of the artefacts after supper?’

‘If you like.’ Her teeth clicked shut on the words. The hypocrite!

‘We had an intruder on the wreck this morning,’ Antonio Zaccaria said, oblivious to Isobel’s discomfiture. ‘He nearly made off with the gold coin, but Dr Roche confronted him and chased him off.’

Alessandro raised shocked eyebrows. ‘But how unpleasant. Some local mafioso, no doubt. Give me a description of the villain and we’ll see if we can track him down.’

‘I didn’t get a good look at him,’ she muttered. ‘He had long hair and a beard.’

‘Well, you showed great fortitude, Dr Roche. How exactly did you manage to—er—frighten this fellow away?’

By now her face was flaming, and she could sense the others looking at her curiously. He was teasing her deliberately, playing with her like a big cat. His expression was all concern, but those eyes held the hot blue memory of what had happened between them only hours earlier. ‘He heard the boat coming and left of his own accord,’ she replied thickly.

‘He didn’t hurt you in any way?’

‘No,’ she snapped, ‘but it was certainly one of the most unpleasant experiences of my life!’

He nodded gravely. ‘The perils of archaeology are great. One has to make many sacrifices—in order to preserve the historical record.’

She felt like throwing the champagne in his face. Luckily, Theo Makarios addressed their host.

‘You’re a dealer in antiquities, aren’t you, Duke?’

‘Oh, please call me Alessandro. I think we should be on first-name terms, don’t you? And, yes, I am an art dealer, for my sins.’

‘Something of a change in the family business,’ David put in meaningfully. He was a thin, earnest man, and always spoke very directly. ‘Your grandfather was a great conservator of the past. He dedicated his life to preserving treasures for future generations. Whereas you buy and sell them to the highest bidder.’

‘Are you making some point, my dear David?’ Alessandro purred, his eyelids lowering.

‘Yes. That your grandfather might not have approved of your career choices.’

‘But my grandfather and I loved one another dearly, I assure you,’ Alessandro replied easily. ‘There was no disapproval. In fact, my work grew out of his in a very real sense.’

‘Isn’t your work the opposite of his?’ Theo said cautiously. A Greek-American from New Jersey, he had the same integrity as David, but was more softly spoken. Isobel gave a silent cheer. Go get him, Theo, she thought. ‘Trafficking in antiquities doesn’t sound like something the late duke would have approved of. With the greatest respect.’

Alessandro laughed. ‘Trafficking? My friends, I think you have the wrong idea about my work. I deal only with top-level museums. I make a point never to sell to private collectors. I do not approve of treasures going into Swiss bank vaults, never to reappear. It is my heartfelt belief that beautiful things should be seen by everyone. Hence, my clients are bodies such as the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the British Museum, the Getty. Anyone who can afford the price of a ticket can see the things I sell.’

The servants were unobtrusively serving the first course, an antipasto of frutti di mare, crisp calamari, prawns and shrimps drizzled with lemon juice.

‘Speaking of the Getty,’ Isobel said, in a voice like crystal, ‘what is the status of the torso you sold them last year, Duke? Wasn’t there some question of its authenticity?’

‘A very sad story,’ he said huskily. But she could see he was quite unfazed by the question. ‘A great museum, a wonderful piece, some foolish outsiders raising irrational doubts—the investigations continue, of course, but I am sure I will be vindicated in time. My beloved grandfather raised me to have an unerring eye for what is genuine.’ He was looking deep into her eyes as he spoke. ‘And what is truly precious.’

She gulped, feeling her heart flutter. He was a rogue, but he knew how to flirt. ‘So you maintain the torso is genuine?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘And the sculptures at the British Museum?’ Theo put in softly. ‘Some people are now saying they are stolen.’

‘Not stolen,’ the thirteenth Duke of Mandalà said firmly, attacking his antipasto with a gold fork. ‘Looted, my dear Theo.’

‘Looted?’

‘They come from a Third World country currently in the grip of a prolonged war. This country is also the possessor of great archaeological riches. The sculptures were looted by soldiers from one of the big museums. Luckily, they found their way into my hands.’

They had all stopped eating the delicious antipasto, eyes wide. David put his fork down with a clatter that made Isobel wince—gold cutlery meeting Sèvres crockery rather too sharply for safety. ‘Most dealers won’t even touch that kind of thing!’ he said angrily.

‘Of course not,’ Alessandro retorted. ‘That’s the trouble with this business. Too much hypocrisy, too much greed.’

Isobel almost gaped at the effrontery of this magnificent brute, purring about hypocrisy and greed as he devoured calamari off a golden fork! ‘Well, I’m glad you are free of those hindrances, Duke,’ she said scathingly.

‘Do I detect irony in that silvery voice?’ He smiled. ‘Someone has to pick up the pieces, my dear.’

‘That someone being you?’ David sneered.

‘If the world is lucky, it’s me.’ He nodded imperceptibly to the staff to clear the plates. ‘I make sure that when these items reach the so-called open market, as they invariably do, that they find their way to great institutions. The British Museum were fully aware of the provenance of those sculptures. They’re offering them sanctuary while the war rages in their homeland.’

‘And when the war ends, I suppose they’ll just give them back?’ Isobel said.

‘That’s not my business,’ he said dismissively. ‘I am just happy to have rescued them from the hands of avaricious private collectors. Or from being pulverised by a smart missile that wasn’t so smart.’

‘And, of course, you make a handsome profit in the process!’

‘Isn’t your own work paid, Isobel?’ he asked softly. ‘Sometimes my job calls for me to become a kind of search-and-rescue agency for orphaned treasures. You’re quite right to say that many other dealers won’t touch this stuff. That’s not because of their high ethics, dear heart. It’s because they’re too afraid of tarnishing their haloes.’

‘I don’t see a halo over your head,’ she retorted.

‘Quite right,’ he said seraphically. ‘My reputation is hopelessly blemished. I really don’t give a damn. In fact, in my business, it is a distinct advantage to be thought of as a scoundrel. It’s the perfect entrée for certain kinds of dealer.’ He grinned at her wickedly. She had never seen such perfect teeth. ‘And I don’t always make a profit. Sometimes my virtue is its own reward.’

The arrival of the main course, a magnificent roast, forestalled her reply. Alessandro carved the joint expertly, his razor-sharp carving knife sliding through the juicy meat.

‘You see,’ he went on, ‘if I don’t make sure those treasures end up in the world’s top institutions, they disappear for ever. The British Museum pieces, for example, are exquisite carvings in marble, a notoriously fragile material. The military gentlemen who were selling them had the bright idea to break them up and sell the fragments piecemeal. A head here, an arm there. You understand? They hoped to double their investment that way.’ He laughed heartily at their expressions. ‘I was in a position to dissuade them from this path and make sure the pieces reached the museum intact. Wouldn’t you say that history owes me a debt?’